A game of two halves

If life were a football game, it would be a 3 – nil win to my parents. Here’s how the first half would break down:

“VV sluggish on the pitch after a treacherous training season in snow and driving rain. She tried hard to keep her place at Man U but the manager said she was a disgrace to her sport and now she’s looking at a dreary future playing for Bogstandard Villa. Her opponents from Milton Keynes deliver some fancy footwork after VV’s job loss in the arts and, IT’S A GOAL of the “told you so” variety. They really are on fighting form after a 2 week holiday on the Costa Brava with the Munroes.

“VV makes a recovery by continuing to co-habit with mad artist Marcus but the relationship is showing signs of strain. While she’s trying to live in the real world he persists with the notion that one day his ship will come in with the sale of his paintings of fruit in various states of manmade disrepair (e.g Stamped Peach ’08, Bayonet Banana ’09). VV kicks the ball far across the pitch in a bid to try and conceal the truth (that Marcus is a mad, irresponsible artist) from her opponents and, oh! VV! It’s offside. That’s a HALF GOAL to the parents.

“VV, once a premier league player, knobbled by her competitive nature and now a casualty of an unstable marketplace. Parents aware she’s swamped in red bills and struggling to find a job so take the opportunity to move the game up the pitch and offer help. Mum pipes up “I’ll call Patsy (old contact from her regional beauty queen days). I’m sure she’s got some paper shuffling you could do at the modelling agency.

“VV rallies all her strength. She doesn’t want to work with dumbo models but a) she can’t afford to buy vegetables (and all the fruit she does buy is decimated by Mad Marcus) and b) she can’t talk back too much in case she breaks rules 4 & 6. She quietly agrees but Mum can’t help but react as if VV has thrown it back in her face anyway “If we can turn the temperature in the hot tub down by a couple of degrees, you can work with the models”. And it’s ONE AND A HALF GOALS to the parents, Ladies and Gentlemen. Vicky is indebted to her parents. It’s an absolute triumph.”

Then I’d have some rejuvenating sports drink and bring it back to victory in the second half. In reality, all the above would be a serious contravention of rule number 2 but you, dear readers, can allow me to dream.

So, for the past few weeks I have been holding the fort as a receptionist, charged with answering the phone and updating the website, at a small modelling agency in central London (code name Strike Models). The credit crunch clearly hasn’t touched them because the seven strong work force are taking extended bank holiday breaks in places like St Barts. Although I guess the rising cost of groceries is a complete irrelevance for people who don’t eat.

I spent the morning re-organising the filing system according to hair colour and making a spiralling pencil stand from tape measures. Bored stiff but, on the upside, with no colleagues present there’s no chance of breaking rule number 1 and when it comes to the models, well, absolutely no danger of competing there. I’m not being harsh on myself, just realistic, when I say I’m more of a slim carthorse than a whippet. And then there’s my uncanny resemblance to Dr Spock.

As part of my website updating remit I spent the afternoon rifling through the models’ offline portfolios and photo-shopping my face onto their bodies. Just to practice. By the end of the day I was convinced I could give them a run for their money if I cut down on the battenburg and went swimming every day. I will start this regime on Monday by eschewing my usual game of badminton with Suze and taking an uncompetitive, solo dip, first thing. Then I will arrive at the office all flushed and toned, on the dot of ten, to meet my new, emaciated, co-workers.